


All I Got For Christmas

by fredbassett



Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:43:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lester is on a desperate hunt for a very special Xmas present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Got For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Joe_Reaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joe_Reaves/gifts).



Lester was really starting to dislike the words: _currently unavailable._

They ranked almost as high on his list of words he didn’t want to see as: _We don’t know when or if this item will be back in stock._

Lorraine dispensed coffee and sympathy in equal measure, and he knew perfectly well that she’d taken to scouring the internet on his behalf, but unfortunately she’d met with exactly as much success as he’d had. In other words, she’d got absolutely bloody nowhere.

The Evil Empire had let him down, and even Lester had to admit that was unusual for Amazon, but then he’d had no luck on eBay, either. He now had just about every Google alert set up that he could imagine, and was getting to the stage of thinking he was going to have to enlist Connor’s help. But that could almost certainly spoil any element of surprise, as it was a well-known fact that telling Connor anything was the fastest way of spreading any particular item of news throughout the entire ARC. And he really had hoped to come up with something slightly more original than items of clothing or decent bottles of scotch for a present.

The problem was that Christmas was fast approaching, and he still hadn’t seen the magic words in stock and available for immediate dispatch anywhere. His hopes had now officially plummeted, and with only two more days to go, showed precious little chance of being resurrected.

“The minister is here, Sir James,” Lorraine said, cutting into his gloomy train of thought. “Shall I show him in?”

Lester was tempted to suggest that Lorraine could show the wretched man the way to the mammoth enclosure for all he cared, but that would have been unfair on the mammoth.

“Thank you, Lorraine,” he said, with what he considered to be admirable restraint, earning himself a small smile of approval.

The minister was as boring and pompous as ever – a typical Tory idiot who wanted to privatise everything, including the ARC. But fortunately the classified nature of the project had so far prevented any of his little schemes from coming to fruition, and any of the possible private finance initiatives that had been on the receiving end of discreet advances had suddenly found other things to do with their money when Lester had casually mentioned the attrition rate on personnel. The word dinosaurs had, unsurprisingly also been somewhat off-putting.

Quite why Henry Golightly had seen fit to inflict himself on the ARC this close to Christmas was unclear, and didn’t become any clearer as the meeting progressed. When his computer let out a low ping, Lester managed to nudge the mouse on his desk to reactivate his screen.

What he saw caused him to sit up straighter in his chair and grab the mouse, caution thrown entirely to the four winds. He muttered the words, “Excuse me, minister, it seems our activities are once more attracting the wrong sort of interest from the type of spotty youth who really should get out more… But we really don’t want the little blighter selling his story to the Daily Vile, do we?”

Oh dear God, had he really used the word blighter in everyday conversation? He blamed that on having spent the past hour in the company of one of the most tedious Hooray Henrys that he’d ever had the misfortune to have to be polite to. The man really was well named.

With a few rapid clicks of the mouse, he’d forwarded the link that had just popped up on his screen to Lorraine with the message: If you can get this to me by tomorrow night, you can name your own price. Knowing his assistant, if she succeeded, it would almost certainly cost him a large donation to a charity of her choice, but it would be worth it.

Feeling more optimistic that he’d been in days, Lester leaned back in his chair and said, “I’m terribly sorry, minister, you were saying?”

* * * * *

As Christmas Eve drew to a close, Lester made a slow perambulation through the ARC, making a point of speaking to every member of staff he wouldn’t be seeing the following day and wishing them all a happy Christmas.

He’d already left a rather extravagant present on Lorraine’s desk, but as she wouldn’t open it until the following day, he knew he was safe from her wrath until the new year, as he’d finally been successful in his insistence that she should take some proper holiday.

The core anomaly team – or at least those with no immediate family – had unanimously decided to spend Christmas Day on call in the ARC. Lester would spend the morning with his ex-wife and children and would then join the team in the office for the rest of the day. As a result, he would be having his own small celebration with Becker that evening. It was their second Christmas together, and although neither of them was demonstrative by nature, Lester was a firm believer in observing the proper proprieties.

He bought a small Christmas tree earlier in the week and had erected it with due ceremony, enlisting Becker’s help with the decorations. Copious quantities of rather good red wine had been consumed and by the end of the evening, his flat had looked quite festive, although he’d had to straighten the star on top of the tree the following morning when sobriety had been re-achieved.

He’d bought a turkey crown for their evening meal and, provided the timers on his twin ovens hadn’t let him down, they would be returning home to the smell of roast turkey, stuffing, roast potatoes and roast vegetables.

The mouth-watering smell that met them on opening the door told Lester that on this occasion, his carefully laid plans hadn’t gone awry. All he would have to do was pop the cork from a bottle of vintage champagne and heat up the gravy.

Becker’s nose started twitching and an appreciatively smile lightened his normally reserved expression. He slid his arms around Lester’s waist and said, “Christ, James, you really are a domestic goddess.”

“Alas, no. I hate to break this to you, darling, but the mince pies are shop bought.”

Becker’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Don’t tell me, Fortnum and Mason?”

“Far better than that,” Lester said, toeing off his shoes and heading into the kitchen to check on dinner. “The bakery on Swan Street near the ARC. Trust me, you’ll love them. Do you want your first glass of champagne before your shower or after?”

“Can I be very decadent and take a glass into the bathroom?”

“You most certainly can.” To a look of complete amazement on Becker’s face, Lester produced two rather fine plastic champagne flutes from a cupboard in the kitchen and proceeded to fill them to the brim. They didn’t make quite the same clink when brought together, but they did at least cut out the risk of ending up in the nearest A&E department waiting for broken shards to be removed from bare feet due to an unfortunate incident in the shower.

Lester was nothing if not cautious when it came to such things.

While Lester quickly checked on the progress of dinner and set the dining room table, Becker took his drink through to the bedroom and thence to the en suite. Lester followed him a few minutes later, taking the bottle as far as the bedroom. Becker – ever the product of a strict upbringing, followed by Sandhurst – had already put his work clothes away neatly in the washing basket and Lester could hear water running in the shower.

He shed his own clothes with more haste than usual and joined Becker in the large en suite. The half-drunk glass of champagne was sharing the window sill with a potted plant and Becker was standing in the shower, eyes closed, letting the hot water wash over him.

Lester drew in a long breath, letting his eyes travel over Becker’s lean, hard body, visible through the frosted Perspex of the shower. Christ, he was gorgeous! Dark hair covered a strong chest and led in a temping trail down to the equally dark hair that surrounded his cock. A cock that was already half-hard. For someone who’d had the very epitome of a repressive upbringing, Becker was remarkably uninhibited when it came to both nakedness and sex. Two things for which Lester had had frequent cause to thank a god he didn’t actually believe in.

Lester knew from experience that sneaking up on a card-carrying member of Her Majesty’s Special Forces was tantamount to impossible, so he didn’t even try. He simply stood there and watched as Becker shot a dollop of shower gel into his palm and proceeded to run his slicked fingers over himself, bringing his cock to full hardness.

“Do you have any fucking idea how hot that looks?” Lester asked, sipping his champagne as he watched appreciatively.

In answer, Becker threw his head back and let the water fall full on his face while he continued to stroke himself.

Lester’s own cock was already starting to show its appreciation for the show Becker was unashamedly putting on for him. Displaying what he thought of as admirable restraint, Lester took a moment to take both their glasses back to the bedroom to be refilled. After all, there was something delightfully decadent about wanking with one hand while holding a particularly fine glass of Dom Perignon in the other, and watching his boyfriend putting on a show that would have earned a five-star rating on an internet porn site.

When Becker reached the stage of standing slightly outside the jet of the shower so that he could slick the fingers of his left hand with lubricant rather than gel, Lester knew that the heat was about to be dialled up a notch. Becker turned sideways so that Lester could see exactly what he was doing as he slid a finger into his own arse.

Lester’s breath caught in his throat. Hot was an entirely inadequate description for the sight of his boyfriend finger-fucking himself like that. Lester had to take his hand off his own cock or risk bringing this particular game to a premature end. A mouthful of chilled champagne did very little to cool him down.

Becker, eyes still closed, proceeded to open himself with a second finger, sliding them slowly in and out of his own body as his other hand continued to work his cock hard and fast.

Lester took a large gulp of the Dom Perignon, feeling the bubbles start to go to his head in the warmth of the bathroom. There was no way Becker was going to last much longer, and Lester knew exactly where he wanted to be when his lover’s climax tightened that perfect arse.

He pulled back the door of the shower, stepping inside and letting the warm water hit him full in the face. Becker captured his lips in a brief, wet kiss, then turned around and braced himself on his elbows against the white tiles. With absolutely no preliminaries, Lester spread his lover’s arse cheeks, lined himself up with the dark, puckered entrance and pushed himself home in one long, delicious slide, feeling Becker’s tight channel open to accommodate him.

Once he was buried balls deep in Becker’s body, Lester slid his arms around his lover’s waist, gripping the base of his cock firmly with one hand while he ran the other over the hair on Becker’s chest, pausing en route to rub his nipples hard between finger and thumb. He was rewarded by a gasp and Becker’s arse clenching tightly around him. Lester pulled back slowly, almost to the tip and then snapped his hips forward hard, driving himself back in to the root. With his fingers forming a very effective cock-ring, Lester set up a fast rhythm, giving Becker no time to adjust or catch his breath. Becker’s head fell forward against the tiles and he pressed back against Lester, taking everything Lester had to give.

When something that sounded suspiciously like a whimper fell from Becker’s lips, Lester knew he could finish this at any time. His own climax wasn’t far off now, and only a Master’s degree in self-control had enabled him to hold off this long. He loosened his grip on Becker’s hard cock and slid his fingers from root to tip at exactly the same moment he changed the angle of his thrusts to slide his cock right over the hard nub of Becker’s prostate.

Becker’s body bucked against him and ropes of come hit the wall of the shower, only to be washed away immediately by jets of water playing over Becker’s sensitised body. The feel of his arse clenching tightly around him was all that was needed to trigger Lester’s own climax. He came with his arms wound tightly around Becker’s iron-hard stomach as he emptied himself into his lover’s tight arse.

Lester just had the presence of mind to free one hand long enough to turn off the water, as it was clear that even that stimulation was fast becoming too much for Becker. His lover’s sensitivity after a climax was something that Lester positively revelled in, and the small aftershocks that had Becker’s arse clenching and relaxing around him was the perfect complement to the pleasure still dancing through his own nerves.

And they still had a bottle of champagne to finish before dinner.

* * * * *

Lester watched as Becker finished off the last scraps on his plate and leaned back in his chair. It looked like his carefully prepared in advance meal had been a resounding success. Seconds – and even thirds – had been rapidly demolished, leaving only enough potatoes and veg left over to make the obligatory bubble and squeak supper the following day.

“Shall we take a break before pudding?” he asked, clearing away their plates and dishes into the kitchen.

“I may never eat again,” Becker declared. “Is this what Connor calls a food coma?”

“I suspect it might be. If I put the pudding on to steam now, you’ll probably feel like a snack when it’s ready. And as soon as I’ve cleared this lot, there are a few presents to open, by the look of things.” He nodded in the direction of the tree. He could see that Becker had sneaked a couple of parcels under the tree at some point while he’d been dealing with the food.

Becker poured two more glasses of champagne. “James, have I told you recently how bloody wonderful you are?”

Lester smiled. “I do remember you saying something along those lines just after I’d fucked your brains out in the shower.”

“I love it when you talk dirty. Can I help with the clearing up?”

In a matter of minutes they had everything tidied away, left-overs stored, and the dishwasher turned on. He’d learned last year that despite the cool, collected exterior, Becker was just a big kid when it came to presents, so with that in mind, he’d bought quite a few things this year, just for the pleasure of seeing them being opened. And, to his surprise, Becker seemed to have done the same for him.

Very quickly, the once-neat living room was reduced to a heap of discarded wrapping paper, with their Christmas goodies back in a neat pile under the tree. Lester was now the proud possessor of two rather splendid silk ties, a dark green cashmere sweater that must have cost a small fortune, a new coffee grinder to replace the one that was on its last legs in the kitchen, a book on the history of coffee, a selection of speciality coffee beans and a mug bearing the words I’m the Boss Around Here.

Becker’s presents included several accessories for his favourite shotgun, two shirts, a pile of CDs, a comprehensive book on the history and development of firearms, a book about Alexander the Great that Lester knew Becker had wanted to get for some while but had just never found the time, and a pair of socks with cartoon reindeers on. Lester was firmly of the opinion that everyone should wear unsuitable socks at Christmas, which had made his present buying for most of the staff a simple affair (with the exception of Lorraine, who received a bottle of exceedingly expensive perfume and a silk scarf that he very much hoped she would like).

That just left one very large box nestled under the tree, carefully wrapped in shiny gold paper.

“What have you been up to, James?” Becker asked, running his hand over the box. “You look like the cat that’s got the cream.”

“I just hope you’ll like it,” Lester said. “Go on, open it.”

Lorraine had moved heaven and earth to secure the contents of the box for him from eBay while he’d still been in his meeting with the minister. The seller had been reluctant to curtail his intended auction, but Lorraine had offered a sufficiently large inducement for him to change his mind. Military transport had been shamelessly abused to get the item delivered to the ARC in time and the whole exercise had cost an arm and a leg but Lester really didn’t care.

Becker pulled the box towards him and, very carefully, like he’d done with all his other presents, removed the wrapping paper. Lester watched as his lover’s hazel eyes widened with surprise and delight. Becker looked up, the expression on his face like that of a kid who’s just discovered that Santa Claus really does exist.

Lester reached over and rubbed the backs of his fingers against Becker’s cheek. “Do you like it?”

Becker laughed. “Like it? It’s fucking brilliant! It’ll fire real BB pellets up to 25 metres!”

Lester winced. That wasn’t something he’d taken into account. He had a nasty feeling the decoration in both his flat and the ARC was likely to suffer as a result of his particular moment of madness.

Becker opened the box and took out his new treasure. The M1A2 Abrams Battle Tank was painted in camouflage khaki and, so Lester was assured, had high grip caterpillar tracks capable of surmounting most interior and exterior terrain (certainly in the test run he’d given it the large radio-controlled model tank had been able to climb a heap of cushions and circumnavigate various other hazards placed in its way in the living room). It had a fully functioning barrel that could be raised through 30 degrees and turned through 320 degrees. And yes, it could fire BB shot with apparently remarkable accuracy over what Lester considered to be a frankly ludicrous distance.

All in all, he hoped, it was a boy’s toy of the highest order and, from the look on Becker’s face, it had been money well spent.

Becker took one hand off his new possession long enough to cup it around the back of Lester’s neck and pull him into a deep and very satisfactory kiss. Becker wasn’t the best at expressing how he was feeling about anything, but he could convey a great deal through a kiss, and this one was extremely enthusiastic indeed.

Lester ruffled Becker’s hair and didn’t even get glared at.

It looked like he’d made a good choice, but as Becker reached for the controls and a package of ammunition, the thought did occur to him that increasing the amount of his insurance cover might have been a wise idea.

Oh well, he’d just have to anesthetise his nerves with some more champagne.


End file.
